It is beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Like the flakes before a snow storm, winter is gently settling in. It is during this time, with holidays approaching, when I tend to romanticize winter, and glorify it the way we all do. Like Bob Cratchit did. Before things went Scroogie. You know, a stocking covered hearth, basking in the warm glow of a fire, frosted windows, family cheer humming in the background ... (Ok fine it is San Francisco and October is the nicest month of the year here.) But I can still dream of my own idyllic, Dickensian style winter, it is my Blog after all.

So here I am on a chilly November night, cooking up a holiday turkey of my own... And so...With a warm cup of cocoa I sit --under my own warm pad of a hot laptop basking in the glow of the dimly lit computer screen (like so many burnt embers) alighted only by its blue-whitish hue, fogging the windows, with just the faintest hint of a humming hard-drive spinning in the back ground-- looking forward to another Christmas, which if Halloween is any indication, will be the first Christmas Hunter truly understands and enjoys.

As he gets older, it is imperative we set in the family values and traditions. Like so many families we are spread out and have to create new traditions where others used to prevail. We are lucky, despite the distance, this will be Hunter's second Thanksgiving with Rayne Droplet's family, for which we are grateful.

In fact, we are looking forward to another upcoming trip where Hunter can re-experience some great traditions at the Pattersons. Wonderful holiday traditions, these, and of course the food is fantastic where Rayne Droplet's favorite stuffing is a family jewel and there is no substitute for enjoying the warmth and comfort of home. There are other more subtle traditions, from the lighting of Christmas bushes, to putting up house lights, grace before dinner; really there are too many traditions to number, like so many wreaths passed down an attic latter. Last year he pushed boxes around the garage but this year I think he will remember his trip and burn an indelible image. Thus, I am also looking forward to Christmas this year for the same reasons really, or perhaps, I think, because he will have his cousins to share the day and learn traditions from. Christmas as a kid should be enjoyed with kids. This is how I did it and so it feels right to continue the tradition.

All it takes is one second to see Hunter with his cousins and it is clear how much they adore each other and how important it is for him to have that connection. Even though they are older than he is, they seem to genuinely enjoy his being around. And now that he is getting older he can really play with them.

Over the summer we had a great time in Tahoe with Hunter and Maggie. She was great. Maybe because she could boss him around and he would listen, or maybe because they can play with sort of the same toys but she was a rock-star. They played golf together, walked the dogs, went to the beach, played Legos, all these great, simple things that make a child's life so enjoyable.

And as for Big Cousin Blake, well that is a different kind of relationship. Wonderful. But different. I remember one time we made our way over to the Profile Chamber in Lake Tahoe. It's one of Blake's favorite places where you can look at fish and wild life in a wonderful little preserve. Hunter loves looking at animals, as his Gramma Cindy will tell you, evidenced by their weekly pet store excursions, just to look. Anyway, once we got to the profile chamber it was a blur. A crazed whirl-wind really, as the cousins were sprinting to show Hunter all of the fun elements of the Chamber. Look Hunter a bat! Or, Over here, check out this bear! And even, Don't worry those teeth wont hurt you, just climb right inside that mouth...

Poor Hunter, who was barely a year and half old, was trying to keep up, and not be scared, but he really was overwhelmed. Something about the fish calmed him as he genuinely seems to like fish. At some point, his cousins became distracted and wandered away, leaving Hunter by the window on a feux cliff pondering the creek and its fish. Other kids had now ventured in, adding to the distraction and hysteria.

Hunter could not keep up or get his cousins' attention. So he stood there for a second, coiled up his little face and yelled over the top, BLAKE! LOOK! BIG FISH! The whole place paused, hesitantly inhaling long enough to turn see Hunter pointing at these tiny fish swimming by before moving on...

He has done so much growing since that time. At that point he was painfully shy. He would barely even look at people and even then it was just to check if they were his momma or not. Mall Santa made him cry, for goodness sakes. Now I think of him at this just past Halloween, just two weeks ago. We went to a pumpkin patch and he wanted to go down the huge slide all by himself. Up and down he went.

His mom prepped him for the day's activities and we went to his cousin's house for the annual pumpkin carving
extravangza/excusetohaveabeerintheearlyafternoon before the evening's main event at his friend's house.

When it came time to trick or treat, I did not know what to expect. He had been practicing saying "trick or treat" for a couple weeks, but who knows how it will actually transpire? Lately he has developed an extreme sensitivity to odd noises, "scary things" (I had to turn off the Charlie Brown Great Pumpkin episode when Patty dressed up in her in witch's costume) and general darkness. It is only Halloween after all, obviously none of the these things will be an issue on this hallowed night...

And yet there he was. When he heard it was time to go he rounded up all the toddlers and their parents and almost pushed everyone out the door. The evening night was awash of strollers, plastic Elmo candy holders and toddlers. Of course we forgot our stroller, so Hunter had to walk. Well, I should not say walk so much as ebulliently, bounding and bouncing down the street, looking as if he forgot he was dressed as a Giraffe, he hopped on down the road like a Kangaroo.

The first house he saw, he literally sprinted across the street. We were supposed to walking a bit down the road, bring a traveling band of Princesses and Pirates with us, but he could not wait. Up he walked, right to the front door, pushed the button and opened his little bag. When the person smilingly answered, he said trick or treat! and got his candy and moved on. Just like he had done it a thousand times before. Mom and dad were proud.

My favorite moment was we when went to this particularly busy street where many of the houses go Grisswald with the decorations and this one house had a talking mummy right by the door that was scaring even adults. When Hunter saw it I had to pick him up as he was genuinely scared, and was loudly fussing to leave for fear. At that same moment it was time for him to get his candy, as I picked him up to leave I turned slightly so my left hand- holding a red plastic cup for, um, water- was facing her. Ignoring the crying baby, she proceeded to plop the candy in my half-full cup and obliviously began chucking candy at toddlers who were all freaked out by her mummy.

Classic. I mean, everyone knows what goes in those red plastic cups...


So with Christmas fast approaching and fall upon us, I do get a little whimsical and sappy about family traditions. I remember the loud bilingual gatherings of my youth, my grandma and her sisters fighting, Carmelita's impossible to replicate empanadas, cousins I did not really know and those I loved. Now, I have a reputation to uphold about being salty on all occasions, but large family gatherings are a part of the fabric of my rearing and I hope to instill in Hunter his own little modern Dickens story, completed by the warm glow of a blue hued computer screen.

And a smile.

No Sing, Mama, No Sing!

And with that, we have what is more than Hunter's first real sentence, as much as it is his first real plea to the world. And, maybe the first sign of baby/daddy solidarity. Because while we all agree Hunter is the only one who should be singing in our house, Rayne Droplet is a wonderful mother and beautiful wife, but she is now convinced she just might be bad enough to be on American Idol. And this is where Hunter and I agree because she is not.

A guilty admission of mine has been that I have allowed Heather to force me to watch American Idol, as I certainly don't really enjoy the the show. Although, ever since I picked two straight winners from the Audition episodes, I feel like I am a bit of seasoned judge myself. I mean I know a dawg when I see one, and when things sound a little pitchy. (Don't get me started on those bogus voter numbers they claim, or try to sell me the idea that America chooses...). Anyway, since we have begun watching the show together, it has been a great saying around the house that Heather is not a bad enough singer to get on American Idol. She can sing OK. Not (real first season winner) Tamyra Gray good. But not train wreck bad either. Thus, not bad enough to be on American Idol.

I feel for Hunter in that regard. Anyone who was at our wedding can recall how musically talented my uncle is. And my grandmother, too, of course. In fact, anyone who was at our wedding would be hit in the face, by my grandmother, if they did not remark to my grandmother -after her show stealing serenade- that she was obviously responsible for ALL his talent, (and for the whole wedding for that matter if you asked her but that is another blog for another day).

And then there is my mom. Also not bad enough to be on American Idol (but certainly young enough!). She is convinced that she sings Queen songs better than Freddie Mercury. Not that she has a better style or more charisma, because that would be ridiculous. Nope, she is convinced her voice sounds better than his. That she is a better singer. Again, I say, not bad enough to be on American Idol.

If you follow along below, you will see Hunter's American Idol Audition video comprised of such international megahits, as Itsy Bitsy Spider, and the Elmo's World theme song. And I must say he puts his own spin on it. The non-partisan judge in me says he makes these very familiar songs "his own" in a way that would certainly impress David Cook, who is falsely given credit for being the Idol to mix up songs, when Daughtry was really the first guy to do that.

So I wonder, as I watch him continue to develop athletic skills, and keep things organized, what skills beyond those of his parents will he develop? I mean we know where he gets his great looks and wonderful personality. And we also know where his sarcasm comes from. Sarcasm, you say? Yeah sarcasm, in a barely 21 month old.

A short story long, it is my blog after all... we were getting some Frozen Yogurt and Hunter had been blazing up and down the corridors, obviously inspired by my recent Dipsea Race, all the while yelling RUN! FAST! RUN! FAST! Well, we finally make it over to the yogurt place and the line is huge and now we are butting against that frozen time in the afternoon where if he is in the car too long he will fall asleep and ruin his sleep pattern for the night, so I actually am in a hurry to get him home, as we had a bit of a drive in front of us. So I pick him up, but he is too squirmy and the yogurt too cold to handle all at once, so I plea with him a couple times to get down and RUN! FAST! To which he coldly replied, NO. So finally I put him down and tell him has to run fast to the car. So he looks at me, gets on his hands and knees and starts to crawl slowly, saying, FAST! FAST! And when I picked him up he was laughing... And I was a proud papa.

Which explains how he always knows at exactly which note to look at his mom with the glint in his eye and smile on his face and say, NO SING, MAMA, NO SING.

Hunter at the bat

Before Hunter was born I remember everyone heckling me - or rather, being as mean as they possibly could for no reason, as if I had kicked their dog or something- by saying things like: what if Hunter doesn't grow up to like sports?

Ah, yes. What if?

The first real glimpse I got of his possible indoctrination, er, introduction, to team sports was during the dark period of my life I like to call, "the last time I coached soccer for Stuart Hall High School". Because of the amount of hours I would be gone from the house, on occasion Heather would bring Hunter to my soccer games. The first time I remember this happening was at the Polo Fields in San Francisco. It is difficult to convey the spaciousness of this ancient "coliseum" but there is enough room for 8 regulation soccer fields, with room to spare.

So at one point during a game I look up and see Heather pushing Hunter in his red BOB stroller at the field nearest mine. Next thing, I look up and I see Hunter pushing the stroller in some far away land, a little red dot on the green horizon, like the back of an airplane flying through the sky. He was maybe 10 months old but I could already see him in that high school game.

My memory is that the next day, for the first time, he was dribbling the soccer ball "better than players on my team" according to Rayne Droplet. Sadly, I agreed. He was running and dribbling the ball, perfectly. And kicking. Kicking. Always kicking. Still kicking. It had to be just from watching the players on that field that day.

Now I am coaching baseball. Much closer to home. Much better environment. And Hunter is at many more games. I have told this story now so many times, and it gets better every time.

The day after he came to his first game, we were in Target, as usual. And we went down the aisle where they have to toy baseball sets, so I could see what might be in Hunter's future. Someday.

Well no sooner are we on the aisle when I hear Hunter saying, well excitedly screaming really, BALLBALL! I followed his index finger pointing straight at the real hard ball. So I manage to find a safe ball and bat for him and turn to set off down the aisle, when I hear it again. BALLBALL!! Following his direction again, I see he has identified a box with a kid on the front hitting the ball off a tee. And I see, ages 4 and up. Hunter is 16 months at the time. Maybe 15. I try to tell him he is too young and we'll get him one later but he plays on my pride and forces me to get him out of his cart so he can try. I still don't want to buy this thing if he won't/can't use it so I fashion a small box on the ground and set a ball on top to show him how to use it. Before I can lean over- WHACK!!

<- (Please note in the picture, while he is not hitting the ball per se, that is a real bat and real tee.)

The ball went sailing down the into the baby food section. It was not so much a turn but more of a whiplash motion as I go to see from how far the ball went to where it came from.

And there was Hunter, bat on his shoulder. Pointing. Ball Ball, he said calmly pointing into the Gerber food section off into the distance. I darted my head around to see who or what had seen the hit or what would happen to us. So I grabbed a tee set and headed home.

On the way I called Heather to tell her what happened and at first it was her normal reaction to my excitement. Calm down you are way over exaggerating, what REALLY happened? All I had to do was to set up the tee to show her.

There he was, butt down, legs spread, bat on the shoulder, hands in perfect position on the bat. WHACK. I was already in Little League when I learned all that, and had to be shown. Not Hunter. WHACK. And he goes to get the ball, like the little red dot he was on the soccer field, off in the distance. It was Heather who said, I think this was what Tiger Woods' dad must have felt like!

<-(This picture, taken at Pac Bell when Hunter was maybe 11 months, should have been an indication. Perfect form already!)

It is both sad and incredibly wonderful that he is already a better athlete than I ever was. Varsity sports, and running medals be-damned.

I wonder, then, what if he doesn't like sports? He is a little mimic.

So will he enjoy reading, working on the computer, gardening, cooking? He sees us doing these things all day.

And I see him, bat on the the shoulder, little butt down. Whack! Ballball Daddy, Ballball.

Below is the link to the first video of Hunter at the bat:

Items in Memorabiliam

Since this past summer Hunter and I have really been on quest for awesome memorabilia...and by "Hunter and I", I mean I. And "we" have been very successful.

The newest addition to our collection has to be our most prized yet. We do have the Lance Armstrong signed hat and the Barry Bonds Bobble-head, but getting to meet Tim Lincecum and having him sign my jersey was really cool. Looking at him, he resembles any other barely twenty-something year old one might see on the street in North Beach- jeans, Sambas, beenie pulled low; he just has an air about him that lacks airs with all the cool. Meeting him was a breeze too, all you needed was some money and time to go to a card shop.

All of this got me to thinking about the hopes and dreams for Hunter and wondering what great things he will accomplish. Will he be an athlete or will he have an Olympic sense of clean like his mom? I was going to ask him what he thought about Lincecum --since this is about Hunter--but he was not able to be out late enough to meet the pitcher, so we will have to try and catch him before a game this year.

We did recently go the Giants Fanfest this year in what has become an annual event. Again, this is about Hunter. I mean why would I want to brave the crowds and get pushed against stage rails like a Who concert in Ohio? Only a devoted father would do that... Some of the allure and intimacy of the event has been lost by moving the event from a small warehouse to the ballpark -- frankly it smacks of overt commercialism and greed-- but it is still cool to get a "free" look at the park and to be able to run on the field. The highlight of the day was how friendly all the fans were. Hunter dragged me along so I could push his stroller and strangely a major league clubhouse does not have to be wheel chair accessible despite the median age of recent Giant rosters (one half expected that the AARP would have demanded ramps so the players would not have to walk up all those stairs). Anyway, many people were happy to help heft the stroller without our even asking. Giants' fans rock.

Once on the field, we did get a good look at many of the players and we got a few signatures for the baseballs we had, including Matt Cain and Aaron Rowand. All Hunter wanted to do was run around the outfield and he was in his glory. Random people were stopping to take his picture because he had on his Giant's beenie and jersey while he frolicked. For a second I dared to dream of him running into the alley to bring home a ball in a real game on that field. The sun was shining brightly by then.

Earlier in the winter we also procured a signed water bottle from Olympic medalist and local cycling hero Levi Leipheimer, the second piece of memorbilia personallized specifically for Hunter. That evening Rayne Droplet and I went out to a wonderful benefit overlooking the bay in Strawberry. Spectacular evening.

I wonder through all the chasing of the souvenirs if I will even care ten years down the line, or twenty, or in memoriam because the memories and traditions being carved are certainly more cherished than any piece of memorbilia.